Sweet Dreams
by emu malfoy
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a god. And he's not the only one who knows it.
1. First

Draco sighed, flipping his pillow to the cool side and turning once more to face the stone wall of his dormitory. He knew he would have bags under his eyes in the morning, the product of yet another (nearly) sleepless night; the thought did not excite him, to say the least. Grumbling under his breath, the blonde shifted again onto his back and determinedly closed his eyes. He briefly considered bewitching himself, but dismissed the idea almost immediately as a wave of laziness passed over him. Draco slowed his breathing, focusing on relaxing each individual part of his body. The tension in his forehead soon relaxed, the slight wrinkle between his pale eyebrows disappeared, his fingers stopped twitching. The usual harshness was gone from his white face: the ever-sneering lips were slack, parted slightly, and the cold eyes were lidded. In wakefulness, Draco Malfoy was beautiful in the way that a glacier is beautiful: icy and pale, and emotionless. Only during rare moments of sleep could he be described as lovely, when drowsiness softened the sharp cheekbones and relaxed the rigid muscles.

But the morning came too soon, and Draco was unceremoniously woken as the sunlight streamed in through the enchanted windows of the Slytherin dungeon. He lay in bed as long as he could, but the murmurs and shuffling of the other boys in the dormitory soon roused him for good. He showered, dressed, and primped in front of the mirror for awhile before heading upstairs to his usual breakfast of dry toast and coffee. His eyes weren't as puffy as he'd feared, and he managed to have a fairly civil conversation with some of his housemates before heading off to his first period class, Potions. Today was going to be a good day.

Draco rose from the Slytherin house table, following a pair of figures back down the long staircase that led to the dungeons. He recognized them at once; who else could be that gangly, that awkward, that orange-haired? Who else could manage to look so full of angst and self-pity, with that disgusting mop of hair? It was Weasel and Potter, and Draco was ready to have a little fun.

"Why, look, it's Gryffindor's golden boys! Don't you two have a marriage to consummate, or something?"

They kept walking, but Draco saw the ginger's fists clench, and their Quidditch conversation was sounding a bit forced.

He smirked and continued, "We all know who the bride is, of course…since Potter doesn't have a father to walk him down the aisle…although, if I were you, Weasley, I would have disowned that blood-traitor that you call Daddy years ago…"Draco kept his tone light and conversational, knowing that Weasley wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. Potter had some self control, but Weasley was a hothead, and Draco knew how to use it to his advantage. Sure enough, he could see the back of the redhead's neck turning a wonderful glowing pink, and watched with glee as the flush spread up to the tips of Weasley's ears as well.

Draco went in for the kill. "What's the matter, Weasley? Couldn't afford your dream dress? Did you have to wear the sack that your cow of a mother wore to her ceremony in the chicken coop?"

A low growl reached his ears, and he was treated to a glorious view: Weasley, turning, furiously pushing Potter's hands aside, and tearing up the stairs—

Draco suddenly realized what was happening. "AHHHHH!! Get off me, you great pink ape!!" He was pinned to the ground, his neck pushed awkwardly against the corner of one stair. The back of his head was throbbing, and he freed one arm from the great mass of limbs that was Weasley to feel it. It wasn't bleeding, but Draco knew there would be a lovely bruise. He glared up at the freckled monkey that was preventing him from sitting up. "Weasel, if you're still on top of me in five seconds, I'll hex you so badly even that beaver Granger won't touch you!"

Weasley didn't seem to know what to do; Draco could see confusion in his blue eyes. He was obviously angry, but afraid to actually hurt Draco; he had one fist cocked, but it seemed unlikely that he would actually hit the smaller boy. He was staring down at the blonde, eyes wide, mouth open stupidly. Draco tried again.

"Weasley, please refrain from drooling. I know Potter's the best you've ever had, which almost makes me pity you, but really, these are brand new robes. It would be an inconvenience to have to replace them. Now GET UP, or I'll make you!"

The ginger blinked, and looked over his shoulder at Potter, who had been standing there giggling the whole time. Draco gave him the iciest glare he could muster, but got the feeling that his current predicament rendered it less than intimidating. It was clear that Potter was not going to assist in fixing the situation.

"Weasley, if you don't get up, people will see."

Draco watched the gears turning in Weasley's thick skull. If people saw him on top of Draco…

"They'll think…I like you!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You Weasleys really are inbred, aren't you? Get. Up. Now."

And just like that, the big, warm weight of Weasley was gone. Draco stretched languidly before getting up himself and following the pair down the stairs again. The whole experience had been much less traumatizing than he would have imagined. And seeing that crazy bloodlust in the Weasel had certainly been worth the bruise and mild embarrassment of being tackled. The important thing was, nobody had seen it happen but Potter, and who cared about Potter anyway? Draco smirked again as he walked into Snape's classroom. Ceremony in the chicken coop. Genius.


	2. Epiphany

**Thanks so much to Rin5o, my ONE reviewer for the first chapter!!

To the rest of you readers (I know you're there)…please, tell me what you think :] Even if you hate it, I want to hear it, honest!

Potions class was particularly enjoyable for Draco that morning. He seated himself across the room from the Chosen Trio (the know-it-all had arrived, as usual, earlier than her harem), and was immediately treated to a scarlet-faced glare from Weasel. Draco treasured this expression; it took a certain amount of skill to frustrate His Lankiness enough that his face clashed this beautifully with his hair. It was really an amazing thing, the amount of fury that could be translated through such a look; if Weasley hadn't looked so ridiculous, Draco might have been intimidated. It helped, too, that he now knew that the boy was afraid to actually hit him. He could tell that this fact didn't help the ginger's mood, a thought which (almost) made him grin. Instead, he aimed a smirk at the Clique who Lived and began on his assignment.

Snape began making his rounds shortly afterward, which, as usual, amused Draco to no end. He pronounced Draco's potion "flawless", while Potter's was "something normally found in a sewer" and Weasley's was "worse than his mother's cooking". He merely sniffed at Granger's, which was fair enough, considering she was Queen Nerd. Draco snorted at their reactions: Potter's angry indignation; Granger's mixture of pride and concern; Weasley's face turning red again at the insult to his mother. He glanced at Draco, who sneered in reply and went back to cutting up his beetroots.

Draco had the entire corner of the classroom to himself, which suited him perfectly. He had long since established his independence, even amongst the Slytherins; they all knew that, unless they were approached by him, Draco was to be left alone. Crabbe and Goyle were only used in certain situations when he felt he needed that extra level of intimidation; otherwise, he found them exceedingly dull. The other Slytherins nauseated him; there was no reason for him to communicate with any of them, unless for some kind of personal gain. There was no true friendship; nobody even liked each other. Not that Draco wanted to like anyone, or for anyone to like him; there was just no point in having friends. So he was usually on his own.

Being independent had many advantages. For example, it was much easier to get away with troublemaking when you worked alone, and Draco got away with a lot. Potions class was the best for pulling pranks; not only did Snape turn a blind eye to whatever Draco was doing, he would punish the Gryffindorks for even reacting. Draco knew that messing with Weasley again today would be pushing it—what if he had a panic attack, or something?—but immediately remembered that this would be funny. Because he didn't like Weasley, and enjoyed his pain. A lot. In fact, he realized, Weasley had replaced Potter as the number one object of his torment. Probably because he had such amazing reactions; all Potter ever did was roll his eyes when Draco tried to rile him up, which was no fun at all.

Draco began brainstorming ideas for what he could do to piss Weasley off before the end of class. Steal his potion ingredients? Enchant his quill so it would moo at him whenever he tried to write? Draco finally came up with something reasonably amusing, and extracted two pieces of parchment, quill, and ink from his bag. He drew the gallows for a game of magical hangman on both sheets, and the appropriate dashes:

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He then folded one of the sheets and, with a tap of his wand, sent it floating over to Weasley, who had his long nose buried frantically in his Potions book. Draco noted that none of the trio noticed who sent the paper, and watched Weasley out of the corner of his eye as he examined and then scribbled something on his piece. Draco looked down at his own sheet and saw the letter 'A' scrawled underneath the gallows. Making it look as though he were making notes in his own Potions book, Draco filled in the dashes:

_ _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The game continued, with the Weasel guessing all of the vowels:

_ EA_ _ E_ I_ OU_ _I_ _

Minutes later, he had only one foot left before death, and the stupid Weasel still had no idea who he was playing with or what the phrase might be.

_ EAS_E_ IS OU_ _IN_

Draco watched him scowl down at the paper and quickly write something. He snorted when he saw the letter "M", and filled in the remaining blank spaces:

WEASLEY IS OUR KING

He looked up, caught Weasley's eye, and grinned broadly. The boy glared back at him, blue eyes narrowed with hatred, and Draco laughed. Draco never laughed—his father said it was uncouth—but he thought it was appropriate in the current situation. Anything that pissed Weasley off was a good thing. He stopped quickly—what if someone else saw him giggling like some third year Hufflepuff?—but when he looked around the room, Weasley was still the only one looking at him. His expression had changed, though; instead of pure loathing, he looked almost…wistful? Draco blinked, confused, and the hatred had returned. It must have just been the flicker of the torches that lit the dungeon, because if there was one person that was immune to Draco's power of attraction, it would be Weasley. Surely even the Weasel wasn't stupid enough to fall for the person who made his life hell?

That's when Draco realized something that made him cackle like a mad hag. Weasley was in love with him, or at least seriously attracted to him. This was excellent! He was certain that he was the only one who knew the Weasel's big secret—hadn't he and that troll Brown been groping each other for awhile? As unappealing as she was, she was certainly female. And Draco was certainly male. How would Weasley's friends and family react to the fact that their gangly boy wanted it in the arse?

Weasley was still staring at him, seething, so Draco gave him a wink and his most attractive smirk. The blush, spluttering, and angry muttering were enough to make Draco sure that his theory was correct. This was going to be a seriously enjoyable endeavor…but where to begin? He began plotting, even as the bell rang and everyone filed out of the dungeons.

**Please review—worth continuing? Should I write from Ron's POV? I kinda like it all from Draco's, but I think I could be persuaded ;)


	3. Pranking the Weasel Part I

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! I know, talley67, I'm terrible, my chapters are always super short…I'm working on it, promise :]

Late that night in the Slytherin common room, Draco began to put his plan into action. It was a complex plot that would take up a great deal of time, and probably money as well; but Draco had plenty of both, being rich and friendless, and it was his opinion that anything that humiliated Weasley was worth the effort. And the boy would never show his freckled face in public after this one.

Draco considered copying out the plan it its entirety on parchment, but knew that it was unnecessary. He had an intellect far superior to most of his year mates; really, the only one smarter than him was Granger, and she was a bookworm anyway. No street smarts whatsoever. For example, despite the clarity of Snape's hatred for her, she constantly felt the need to show off in class; all it ever did was lose points from Gryffindor, because she was such a know-it-all.

Not that Draco minded; he would never admit it, but the Slytherins would need all the help they could get if they were going to beat the Gryffindors in the House Cup this year. The teachers, especially Dumbledore, clearly favored the Gryffindors; just because they had Scarhead in their house, obviously. Draco had a theory that they were trying to add to the Chosen Git's already plentiful store of self-confidence to aid in his upcoming battle against the Dark Lord; it was obvious, really, that the outcome of that battle would decide the fate of the Wizarding world.

It amazed him when people talked about killing Harry, or wondered why Voldemort hadn't been caught yet; it had always been clear to Draco that one of them had to finish off the other. To be honest, Draco didn't know which side to root for. He truly hated Potter, and his parents were obviously on the Dark Lord's side, but Draco wasn't particularly looking forward to taking orders from Voldemort. His life would be nothing but killing and enslaving under the Dark Lord's rule, and that would be no fun at all; Draco would much prefer a nice, cushy Ministry job, or even starting up his own business. He had always been good with Potions, and it would be freakishly easy to sell overpriced Pepperup Potion and whatnot to add to the Malfoy bank account.

But for now, he didn't have to worry about such things. It was time to begin "Operation: Ruin Weasley's Already Exceedingly Pathetic Life". Draco had stayed up late enough that the common room was empty, and he had complete privacy as he began writing Weasley's love letter.

It was surprisingly easy; once Draco thought about it, he realized that Weasley was really not terrible-looking (although he did have that horrible, musky stench about him). Draco had never written a love letter before—he had never been in love—but he was a decent writer and it was for an excellent cause. His first draft was a bit cheesy, and he had to edit it down a few times before it sounded any kind of sincere. When he was finished, Draco re-read his finished product, a smirk worming its way onto his face. There was no way Weasley would be able to resist this; Draco was an excellent flirt, and he had really turned on the charm with this one. He sealed and addressed the letter, attached it to a small box of expensive Muggle chocolates, and with a tap of his wand sent the package to the Owlery. The Weasel would receive them at breakfast the next day.

Draco yawned. It had been an eventful day, and he hadn't slept well the night before; fatigue was beginning to set in. He breezed quietly into his dormitory, undressed quickly, and collapsed on his four-poster. He barely had time to snuggle into his comforter before his eyes rolled back into his head and he was overtaken by sleep.

_Morning_

Draco woke in a cold sweat, feeling like he had just fallen off his broomstick. In fact, he had just awoken from a dream in which he fell off his broomstick; his eyes had sprung open right at the moment of impact, and he had to take a few deep breaths in order to calm himself down. Draco checked the clock on his nightstand and saw that the wake-up call would come in two minutes. As he dozed, relishing in the comfort of his warm bed, he remembered the night before, and his striking eyes popped open.

The letter. He had written a letter. To Weasley. A love letter. To Weasley. What was he thinking?!

Then, he remembered the prank, which really should have been the first thing he thought about. But Draco's heart still hammered, and he couldn't shake the anxiety that had overtaken him. He hadn't even signed it. Why was he so nervous? Weasley was too stupid to realize who had written the letter. And, even if he did, wasn't that kind of the point? Draco sighed, frowning at the ceiling. It was too late to take it back now, anyway, and if everything went well, there would be no regrets.

The alarm rang, and artificial sunlight immediately lit up the dormitory. Draco sat up, the anxious feeling still clenching in his chest. He went through his usual morning routine—a bit slower than usual, perhaps—and dragged his feet up the stairs to the Great Hall. This morning, he arrived just as the mail did. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He swore out loud, quietly. He was a Malfoy; he couldn't possibly be flustered over such a stupid thing. Family pride finally rose in him, and his usual façade returned; the heartbeat slowed; anxiety disappeared, to be replaced by amusement.

Draco glided to the Slytherin table, taking his time. He chose a seat facing the rest of the hall, and caught a glimpse of Weasley, untying a package from the leg of a large barn owl—one of the schools'. Draco calmly poured himself a cup of black coffee and took a sip or two before glancing at Gryffindor table again. Weasley was—of course—stuffing his face with chocolate, while the letter sat in front of him, unopened. Draco helped himself to a piece of toast and propped open a random book from his bag before stealing another look across the room.

The Weasel was reading the letter, blue eyes wider than Draco had ever seen them. His face was so pale, Draco could almost count every freckle. Then, as Draco watched, the beloved blush appeared, starting at his cheeks and spreading in all directions. He turned and said something to Potter, who choked on his porridge and grabbed the letter out of his hands. Draco grimaced, caught himself, and looked down at the book, which happened to be upside down. He flipped it and glanced up again. Now Potter was reading the parchment, a small frown on his face, while Weasley sat there looking dazed. Suddenly, without warning, Potter looked straight up and glared directly into Draco's eyes. There was no doubt in the Slytherin's mind that Potter knew who had sent the note; he must have recognized Draco's handwriting (which, of course, Ginger hadn't, despite the game of hangman the day before). Draco merely winked at Potter, who looked fiercer than a manticore, and left the Great Hall.

He practically skipped to his first class of the morning, Charms. The look on Weasley's face had been priceless—and the fact that Potter was jealous was sweet icing on the cake. Draco knew there was no way that Potter would tell on him; Weasley wouldn't believe him, and he would probably be angry at Potter for suggesting it. The whole situation was making it hard for Draco to keep his face from splitting into a huge grin.

It was a weird feeling. He hadn't been this happy in a long time. Messing with Weasley was making it really hard for Draco to keep his composure, and Draco never lost his composure. But there was just something about that look on Weasley's face that made him want to laugh his arse off.

_Afternoon_

Not feeling particularly hungry, Draco decided to take a bath during the lunch break. He was gliding along down a corridor, reliving that beautiful moment in the Great Hall this morning, when—

"Malfoy. We need to talk."

Draco paused, smirking already. "No, Potter, you cannot join me in my bath, your girlfriend might get jealous. Remember her? The ugly one with the blotchy face and the flaming hair?"

"You need to stop messing with Ron. He thinks you're serious, he thinks some girl really wants him—"

"_Don't_ tell me what to do, Potter." Draco turned, facing the stupid little has-been. "Who I write to is none of your business; what do you know, what if I've fallen for that thick-skulled oaf of yours? What if I want to do the dirty with him? What if the sight of his pink, freckled face fills me with pure joy?"

Oh, bugger.

But Draco didn't have time to deal with this new revelation; his vision was suddenly full of nothing but curly black hair, and for the second time in two days, he found himself on the ground beneath a Gryffindor.

Draco sighed. "You know, Potter, I declined to let you bathe with me. That wasn't a secret invitation to manhandle me on the floor."

Potter's livid green eyes met Draco's icy gray ones, and the Slytherin couldn't repress a small shiver. "Stay away from Ron, or I'll make you myself."

Then he was gone, trotting down the hallway in the direction of the Great Hall. Draco brushed himself off, his mind racing. A curly black hair was pinched between two long, pale fingers, and the next phase of Draco's plan was coming along quite nicely.

**Sorry it took awhile to update...reviews always motivate me, hint hint :]


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